


The Most Magical Place on Earth

by elizabethcatherine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Case Fic, Disney World, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, No Slash, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 01, Supernatural Writing Challenge October 2015, author uses her authorly powers to dress the boys up as disney princes, hopefully reads like an episode but who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5074171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethcatherine/pseuds/elizabethcatherine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few weeks before Halloween, Sam and Dean head down to Disney World, where people are dying mysteriously. Set in early season one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My entry in the October SPN Writing Challenge for the prompt "magic." Enjoy!

"We really hit the jackpot this time, Sammy," Dean said brightly. He ignored his brother's muttered "It's _Sam_ ," and grinned across the front seat. "Seriously, when has Dad ever sent us somewhere fun?"

"Fun for a six-year-old, Dean," Sam replied somewhat condescendingly; he would never admit that he shared some of Dean's excitement.

"Hey — it's Disney World, Sammy! Fun for the whole family!"

Sam rolled his eyes and waved a piece of paper in his brother's direction.  
"This is what we're here for, Dean — the case. Last week, an employee here died of hypothermia."

"Hypothermia?" Dean repeated with disbelief. "Some poor son of a bitch froze to death in Florida?"

Sam smiled wryly. "Not just anyone, either. It was — get this — the woman who played _Elsa_."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Elsa as in the ice queen?" He laughed when Sam nodded. "Dude, that is just too good."

"Wait until you hear the rest," Sam said with a smirk as they pulled into the hotel parking lot. A friend of their father's, the reason they were here in the first place, was paying for the room. He was standing by the door with a luggage cart, almost as tall as Sam and thin as a rail.

“Sam, Dean, glad you could make it,” he said with a friendly smile as they closed the car doors in unison. Sam pulled his duffel out of the backseat and went to greet the older man.

“Hey, Michael,” Sam replied, shaking the proffered hand.

Michael clapped him on the shoulder. “Man, you got bigger," he said with a laugh; this Sam sure didn’t match up with the skinny fourteen-year-old he had last seen.

“Yeah, believe me, he’s a lot heavier, too,” Dean groused, shouldering his duffel as he came around the front of the car. “Try getting him out of bed in the morning.”

“I seem to remember spending a solid hour trying to get _you_ up today,” Sam shot back. "Real mature," he scoffed as Dean stuck his tongue out. He smiled to himself as Dean and Michael went inside; however annoying Dean could be, Sam had missed his brother during those years away at Stanford. It was good to have that camaraderie again.

"Dude, you comin' or what?" came Dean’s impatient voice from the hotel lobby.

"Do you miss me already?" Sam called back with a smirk. “I’ll be right there.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"You're pulling my leg."

Sam grinned. "Nope."

"This is the weirdest case we've ever had," Dean said, shaking his head. "Let me get this straight — not only has Elsa frozen to death, but the Little Mermaid has drowned and Jasmine fell off the magic carpet?"

"Well, Jasmine fell out a window," Sam corrected him. “Guess the carpet was at the cleaners.”

“Whatever’s doing this has a sick sense of humor,” Dean commented. “Speaking of which, do you have any leads?”

Sam shrugged, running a hand through his bangs, and closed his laptop. “I asked around and there was apparently no sign of sulfur at the crime scenes. We’ll check ourselves, of course, but it’s probably not a demon. My money’s on vengeful spirit.”

“Great,” Dean sighed. “Do you have any idea who might have a grudge against Disney princesses?”

“No,” Sam said, “but I know someone who might.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“This is ridiculous,” Dean grumbled, tugging at his collar as they walked. “Why are we dressed as the same person?”

“We’re not the same person. I’m Eric. You’re Prince Charming,” Sam pointed out. As the assistant director of Magic Kingdom, Michael had used his position to provide them with a cover: actors. Now they were decked out in full Disney prince costume and were headed for Cinderella’s Castle.

“I look like an idiot,” Dean growled.

“Not gonna argue with that,” Sam replied, smirking.

“Shut up and keep walking.”

It was early, and the park had yet to open, though people were gathering at the gates. Dean continued to grumble as they entered the castle through the employees’ entrance. He stopped abruptly, eyebrows shooting up, when he caught sight of the person seated on the ornate throne. As Sam’s eyes followed Dean’s gaze to the shapely Cinderella, he sighed. “Dean, _no_.”

“Dean, _yes_ ,” his brother replied with a low chuckle, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s Charming time.” Before Sam could stop him, Dean sauntered over to the blonde woman, who looked up and smiled.

“Prince Charming, I take it?” Cinderella said, rising and extending her gloved arm. Instead of shaking her hand, Dean brought it to his lips and kissed it, making her giggle.

“More like Prince Sleazy,” Sam muttered under his breath. Dean elbowed him in the side.

“Call me Dean,” he said with a smile. “This is Sam. And you are…?”

“What, you mean you’re not the real princes?” the woman joked. “I’m Cindy.” Noticing the men’s incredulous looks, she laughed. “It’s a weird coincidence, I know. You two are new around here, huh?”

“Yeah, today’s our first day,” Sam chimed in. “We’re excited, but I have to say, we’re a little nervous about the recent deaths.”

Cindy’s face darkened. “It’s been tough. I knew all of them really well, and to lose so many people so quickly—” she cut herself off before she started to cry, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Sam put a comforting hand on her arm. “We understand,” he said quietly. “You didn’t see any of it happen, did you?”

Cindy shook her head, sniffling slightly. “N-no, I didn’t. I, um. I heard Leah fall, though.” She shuddered at the memory. “She screamed the whole way down. You’d think someone had pushed her.”

The brothers looked at each other, silently confirming that a vengeful spirit was responsible.

“All right,” Dean said. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Nodding, Cindy tried to compose herself. “The kids will be here any minute. We should get in position. You know what to do?”

“Act princely and smile for the camera,” Dean answered with a grin.

“I’m off to find the Little Mermaid,” Sam said, immediately regretting his words when he saw Cindy flinch. He had forgotten that the actress who used to play Ariel was dead; the theme park had hastily replaced her with a new one, but he doubted that Cindy could ever hear the name again without a flood of bad memories. “Sorry,” he mumbled and got out of there as fast as he could.

The hours passed, their feet aching from standing beside their respective princesses. Finally, the park closed; that was when they heard the scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two should be up soon! Reviews are greatly appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never, right? This chapter is a bit shorter than the last — sorry about that. Enjoy!

"I was just talking to her and she collapsed," the woman sobbed. "She was still alive, b-but in a lot of pain, and when I tried to touch her, she screamed... I called 911, but it was too late..." She hung her head and Sam placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You did all you could," he said quietly. "She was poisoned. There was no way you could have saved her."

The EMTs were loading a pale, dark-haired body onto a stretcher to be brought to the morgue. No prince was around to kiss Snow White back to life this time. Sam wrapped up his conversation with the witness and went to find Dean, who had wandered off in search of clues.

"Hope he hasn't gone too far," Sam muttered to himself, walking in the direction that Dean had gone as he glanced around the deserted park. It was eerie at this time of night; fog drifted through the empty streets and curled around him like ghostly fingers. It was utterly silent except for his soft footsteps.

"Dean!" he called. The nagging feeling that something was wrong sent a chill down his spine. His foot hit something soft with a thump. Bending down, Sam looked closer and saw the golden tassels of an epaulet. His heart stopped for a moment as he turned over what was clearly a body to see his brother's bloodied face.

"Shit. Dean!" Sam put two fingers to his neck, checking his pulse. It was strong and undeniably there, and he breathed a sigh of relief before trying to wake his brother. Damn, there was a lot of blood on him — he had to figure out where it was coming from. Sam took out his phone and shined the light on Dean's face, cringing as blood shone darkly in the blueish glow. There was a large gash by Dean's hairline, as if he had been struck by something. Sam checked his eyes and found pupils more dilated than he had ever seen, green irises barely visible around the deep black.

"That's a concussion, all right," he murmured, wincing at the headache Dean was going to have. He cupped his brother's cheek with one hand and patted it lightly. "Dean? I need you to wake up, buddy." Sam smiled as his brother groaned weakly. "That's it."

"M'head hurts," Dean mumbled, cracking one eye open before closing it with a moan of pain. "Turn th' light off."

Sam lowered the brightness on his cell phone before returning to his brother, who had started to slip back into unconsciousness. "Dean, I know your head hurts, but you have to stay awake," Sam said, squeezing his shoulder and then slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I have to get you up. Try not to barf on me."

"Easier said ’n done," Dean slurred as Sam hefted him up, trying not to jostle his head more than he had to. He helped Dean slip an arm across his shoulders and wrapped his right arm around his brother’s abdomen.

“Got hit… some lady?” Dean mumbled, confused by his own spotty memories.

"We’ll figure it out later, once we get you fixed. Let’s go," Sam said and started walking.

They made it to the hotel parking lot before Dean collapsed onto his hands and knees, vomiting on the neatly trimmed lawn while Sam held him up. "Sorry," Dean got out, gasping for breath as the bout of sickness left him dizzy.

"It happens," Sam said lightly, grimacing at the smell. He pulled off his white costume gloves, giving one to Dean to wipe his mouth and using the other to gently clean as much blood off Dean’s head wound as he could — they couldn't just walk into a four-star hotel looking like Walking Dead rejects. Satisfied, Sam pulled his brother up and they continued their painfully slow trudge to their room.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the brothers made it up to their room, managing not to draw too much attention to themselves by claiming Dean was drunk off his ass and angling him so his injury didn’t show. He was pretty out of it by the time Sam got him into bed; he probably would have been unconscious already if it wasn’t for Sam’s constant prodding.

“Talk to me, Dean,” Sam instructed as he rifled through his duffel for their first-aid kit. Dean responded with an incoherent mumble that sounded like a complaint. “If you fall asleep, I’ll slash the Impala’s tires.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Dean growled with surprising clarity, his eyes snapping open and narrowing at his brother’s amusement.

“Perfect,” Sam said, giving Dean the “okay” sign with his left hand. Dean flipped him the bird.

Finally, Sam found what he had been looking for: a needle and a container of dental floss. No whiskey for Dean this time around; liquor didn’t go well with a concussion.

After washing his hands and cleaning the needle and Dean’s wound with alcohol, Sam got to work stitching it up. It was a nasty cut, stretching nearly the length of Sam’s finger. Whoever had attacked his brother meant business.

“Ow,” Dean mumbled quietly as Sam poked the needle into the skin for the first time. “Ow. Ow. Ow.” He continued like that for awhile (Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t complain — at least he was awake) until the complaint deteriorated into quiet grunting.

“Done,” Sam said as he finished off the last stitch and slapped a bandage on the wound. “Now stop whining and let me check your pupils again so you can sleep.”

With one last grumble, Dean opened his eyes wide, allowing Sam to gauge whether he had recovered enough to sleep. His pupils were still more dilated than they should have been in the bright hotel room, but they had shrunk considerably from their earlier size. Patting his brother on the shoulder, Sam announced, “You can sleep!” and helped Dean strip down to his boxers and lie flat on the bed.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean mumbled as Sam turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of the desklamp. While Dean slept, he’d try to make some headway on the case.

Smiling slightly, Sam didn’t bother to correct his brother about his childhood nickname. “Anytime, Dean. Anytime.” He sat down at the desk, flipped open his laptop and settled in for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed (or even if you didn't) please leave a review with any comments, questions, or corrections (since I know nothing about concussions). :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been over a year since I started writing this, but I really am gonna finish it now, I promise! I've actually written the next chapter already and just have the epilogue left to do. Spring break productivity got ahold of me, I guess. Enjoy!

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!” Sam jolted back into consciousness at the sound of his brother’s voice. He unstuck his face from his laptop’s keyboard and sat back in the chair, back aching after being hunched over all night long.

Besides the bandage at his forehead, Dean seemed to be back to his old self, sipping a Starbucks coffee from the armchair by the bed. “I got you one too,” he said, gesturing to a styrofoam cup by Sam’s computer.

“Thanks.” Sam exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, and took a sip of coffee. Sleeping in that position had done his body no favors, especially after practically carrying Dean to the hotel the night before.

“No problem. So, did you find anything before you conked out on the keyboard?” 

Sam shrugged and set his coffee down. “Maybe. Check this out.” He typed in the password to his computer and pointed to the screen as Dean strode over and stood beside him.

“‘Tragedy at Disney World: Young Girl Found Dead in Cinderella’s Castle,’” Dean read. “A little girl died here?”

“Yeah. Her name was Mackenzie Callahan, six years old, and get this — she _loved_ princesses. She was dressed up as one when they found her. Her parents said she used to watch the movies over and over.”

Dean frowned as he put the pieces together. “So you think this girl’s spirit is killing Disney princesses in some kind of sick re-enactment of the movies?”

“Bingo,” Sam said, nodding. “They suspect she was murdered, so it makes sense that she’d be vengeful.”

“Where’s she buried?”

“She was cremated,” Sam responded. “But here’s the thing — when they found her, she was missing something.” He pointed to a paragraph on his computer screen. Dean leaned in to read it.

“One of her feet was bare,” he said, frowning incredulously. “You think her spirit is anchored to a shoe?”

“Before you reject that theory, look what princess she was dressed as.” Sam scrolled to a photo of the little girl taken hours before her untimely death; she was wearing a glittering blue gown and matching headband, her pale feet blurred but visible behind translucent plastic pumps.

“Cinderella,” Dean breathed with dawning realization.

Sam nodded grimly. “We have a glass slipper to find.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The park had already opened for the day, so they had to wait until closing time to begin the search. In the meantime, they donned their costumes yet again, this time with little pouches of salt tucked carefully into their pockets, keeping a careful (and in Dean’s case, lascivious) eye on their princesses. Sam made friendly small talk with the petite redhead who played Ariel while Dean flirted shamelessly with Cindy, who, as it turned out, enjoyed playing hard-to-get. After they filled him in, Michael had instructed security to pay special attention to the other princesses around the park in the hopes of preventing another accident.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough; that afternoon, a body was found mauled by a wild animal and barely recognizable if not for the simple blue and white dress and dark brown ponytail. _Beauty Killed By Beast_ , the headlines would read. Sam and Dean set their jaws at the news, determined that this death would be the last.

By half past nine that evening, Dean was investigating the blood-spattered crime scene for any hints as to the shoe’s whereabouts while Sam searched Cinderella’s Castle.

“Belle’s” body (really a woman named Anita Juarez) had been found at the edge of a grove of oak trees between Liberty Square and Fantasyland. The last police officer had finally driven off in her squad car, leaving Dean to step over the yellow caution tape and survey the grisly scene. After a few minutes he noticed something that the cops must have missed: a tiny brown pouch, darkened by blood and nearly invisible against the soil.

“I really hope that isn't what I think it is,” Dean groaned as he bent to pick it up, opening it to reveal its contents: a scattering of black and rust-colored flakes, a tuft of bloodsoaked fur, a curved fang and a pale white bone. Dean cursed under his breath. “That’s a hex bag, all right. Friggin’ witches!” He dialed Sam’s number to clue him in, but there was no response. “Shit,” Dean muttered. Something was wrong. He closed and pocketed the hex bag, cringing as it squelched, and raced for Cinderella’s Castle.

The last thing Sam expected to find tucked beneath Cinderella’s throne was a hex bag. He hadn’t even considered witchcraft as a possibility, not with all the evidence pointing to a vengeful spirit. But there it was in his hand: not the glass slipper he’d been searching for, but a pouch that held a tiny vial of clear liquid, a few large granules of salt, and the charred bones of a fish. He closed the bag, retying the string, and slid his phone out of his back pocket; he had to call Dean.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Sam,” a teasing voice said from behind him. He whirled around, dropping both the phone and the hex bag in surprise. His phone screen shattered on the marble floor.

A tall, freckled blonde was smiling at him with gentle amusement. “Cindy!” he exclaimed with relief. “I thought — never mind. We need to get you out of here; your life is in danger!”

Cindy didn’t move, her lips curving into an icy grin. “I think I’ll be all right.”

“What—” Sam’s question was cut off as he suddenly choked on salty water. He coughed, mouth gaping, but the water he expelled was immediately replenished. His nose and throat stung, his lungs burning as he gasped for air. Black spots swam in front of his eyes.

“It was foolish of me to let your brother go with no more than a bad headache, but I guess his persistence somehow endeared him to me,” Cindy mused, watching her victim drown. “I have no qualms about killing you, however.” She laughed coldly as Sam collapsed to his knees into the puddle of brine taking shape beneath him. “Time for you to join your little mermaid, Eric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hope you enjoyed, and remember, reviews are happiness! ^-^


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter four! I'm considering just consolidating all of this into a one-shot after I post the epilogue. Thoughts?

Dean burst into the castle throne room to see his brother coughing up water while Cindy watched with disinterest.

“You bitch!” he growled, leveling his pistol at her. It flew across the room before he could pull the trigger, clattering harmlessly to the floor. With another flick of her hand, Cindy sent Dean flying into a wall, his forehead meeting plaster with a painful crack. She flipped him around to face her.

“Now, now, Dean, there's no need to be crass,” Cindy said with a smile as she approached her immobilized prey. “In fact, you ought to be on your best behavior; just because I didn't kill you last night doesn't mean I’m guaranteed to spare you now.”

“Here I thought we had a connection,” Dean replied breathlessly, struggling against invisible bonds. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam fumbling in his pockets, removing something small and metallic — his lighter. _Good idea, little brother_ , Dean thought, grinning inwardly while keeping his expression neutral. _I'll provide the distraction_.

“Why did you kill all those women?” he demanded. “And why go to all this trouble just to imitate the movies?”

“They were _imposters_ ,” Cindy sneered. “They profited off of lies, claimed the misfortunes of others as their own. Do you think any one of them knew real pain? Do you think they had any idea what it’s like to be beaten and enslaved, betrayed by people claiming to be _family_?”

“You're Cinderella,” Dean said with sudden understanding. “The _real_ Cinderella.”

“Damn right I am,” she snarled. “You want to know why I did it? Because they needed a taste of reality. Happy endings don't exist in the real world; there’s no Prince Charming coming to save the damsel in distress. She has to save herself or die trying.”

“What about that little girl?” Dean asked, wishing he could wipe away the blood dripping into his left eye. The cut from the night before had been reopened along with some fun new additions to his injury collection, and his head felt like it had been split in two. “Mackenzie Callahan? Did she deserve to die?”

“I wouldn't have needed to kill her if she hadn't stuck her nose where it didn't belong,” Cindy said haughtily. “She walked in on a ritual I was performing after hours, wearing that idiotic costume and wanting to know if we could be _best friends_. She was a brat. Her parents should have thanked me.”

Across the room, despite his shaking hands and darkening vision, Sam had finally gotten a steady flame, making sure to hold it away from the waterfall pouring from his mouth. He managed to reach the hex bag where he had dropped it earlier and held the lighter under it. Just as his vision threatened to black out entirely, the bag went up in flames and suddenly he could breathe again, throat aching but clear.

His relief didn't last long as Cindy let out a bloodcurdling shriek of anger, spinning on her heel to face him as she sensed the destruction of her spell. “Sammy, dear,” she said in a dangerously low tone. “You really shouldn't have done that.” She flicked her wrist and he crashed into the far wall, grunting with pain as his body left a sizeable dent in the plaster. She let him slide to the floor before flinging him again, this time into the throne, which toppled, leaving him slumped over it in a heap.

Sam let out a muffled groan that could have been construed as “It’s Sam,” but he didn't move. His ribs ached sharply; he had definitely heard a crack with that last impact. His skull hadn't fared much better, and slick blood now coated his chin where he had bitten through his lower lip. His right shoulder throbbed. He thought it might be dislocated or at least sprained.

“I'm gonna enjoy killing you,” Dean growled with quiet ferocity.

Cindy turned to the elder brother, amusement clear on her delicate features. “You really think you have a chance? How cute. I might have to keep you around for awhile, Dean. You say such silly things.”

“Screw you,” Dean spat.

“Isn't that what you've been trying to do since you arrived?” Cindy smiled coquettishly, sauntering over to Dean with her hips swaying. She ran a hand down his arm, fingers feather-light with faux gentleness. He cringed away from her as much as he could. “How do you like me now, Dean? Still want to get in my pants like every other—” Her voice cut off abruptly as a transparent pike emerged from her throat in a burst of crimson. Dean watched in shock as Cindy collapsed to the floor, eyes wide and staring, to reveal a pale shape behind her clutching a bloodied plastic shoe.

“...Mackenzie?” Dean said disbelievingly as the invisible hold on him was released and his feet returned to the ground. The little spirit in front of him nodded solemnly before offering him the slipper. He took it, understanding her tacit request, and removed his lighter and a pouch of salt from his pocket, sprinkling salt over the shoe, flicking on the flame and letting it burn. Mackenzie Callahan disintegrated into ash without a sound. “Rest in peace,” Dean murmured, feeling the deep sadness that only a child's death could evoke.

After propping Cindy’s body none too gently against the wall, Dean rushed to his brother’s side. Sam was still conscious, but his whole body was one throbbing ache and he never wanted to move again. When Dean touched his bad shoulder, he let out an animalistic wail that was only made worse by his battered throat, scaring his sibling half to death. His breath rattled.

Dean swore as he took in his baby brother’s condition. “That crazy bitch sure messed you up, Sammy.”

“It's Sam,” came the anticipated reply in a weak voice roughened by seawater, “and you don't look so great yourself.”

“Touché,” Dean conceded, trying futilely to wipe congealed blood from his face as his temples throbbed. “Hospital?”

“Hospital,” Sam agreed before blacking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a review if you enjoyed! :)


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the epilogue! I know it's super short, but I didn't think there was much else to include (if you think something's missing, let me know). In a day or so I'll probably just combine this into a one-shot anyway and turn the chapter breaks into line breaks. Enjoy!

Consciousness returned in slow increments. The first sensations to register were the low insectile buzz of fluorescent lights and the muffled _tap, tap_ of purposeful footsteps in some distant hallway. Then came the itch of cotton at his neck — a hospital gown — and a warm weight across his legs. When he inhaled, he realized that something was in his nose, obstructing the nostrils; he sniffed experimentally a few times and then sneezed. The weight on his legs shifted and disappeared, rustling sheets.

“Sammy?” The familiar voice was hopeful, if a little drowsy.

“De’? Wha’ppen?” Sam mumbled. He coughed wetly and blinked open heavy eyelids to see his brother grinning at him from a hard plastic chair, bandages wrapped around his forehead. “You look like a mummy,” Sam commented muzzily before trying to sit up. Dean blocked the movement with a hand on Sam’s chest, pushing him gently back onto the bed.

“Yeah, and you’d better not try to get up or I’ll go all King Tut on your ass,” his brother warned. “A couple o’ broken ribs on top of all that seawater you chugged gave you pneumonia, not to mention the dislocated shoulder and three stitches in your lip. Don’t touch that,” he added as Sam reached for the nasal cannula feeding him oxygen. “The doc said it’ll help you breathe until your ribs recover.”

“We gotta fine Dad,” Sam slurred insistently. “Gotta fine ‘im.” His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“Dad can wait a week. Don’t think he’d be too happy if I let you wander around delirious and high as a kite.”

“You call Jess?” Sam asked, wondering why she hadn’t come to see him.

Dean sighed, dragging one hand across his face. “Yeah, Sammy. She’s on her way,” he lied resignedly. When his little brother didn’t respond, Dean looked at him only to discover that he had fallen asleep, the shadow of a smile on his face.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Sam had recovered enough to take a step without triggering a coughing fit, he and Dean got out of town. Michael, perhaps feeling apologetic about the way the hunt had gone, paid them handsomely for their efforts and promised all-access passes should they return; the brothers thanked him politely while exchanging a look that said _Not happening_.

As the Impala peeled out of the hotel parking lot, AC/DC blasting, Sam glanced at his brother across the front seat and smirked mischievously. “You had the hots for a witch.”

“I thought she was just a hot chick!” Dean insisted defensively. “How was I supposed to know she was a psycho?”

“The fact that she didn’t object to you throwing yourself at her should have been a clue.”

“I didn’t _throw_ myself at her!”

“You kissed her hand, man,” Sam chuckled at the memory. “What a cornball move.”

“Shut up, bitch!”

Sam’s “jerk” was lost in the pounding rhythm of “Thunderstruck” as Dean turned up the volume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Critiques? Give it to me straight!


End file.
